


Fleet of Foot

by frickincheng



Series: The Way We Live [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Gen, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frickincheng/pseuds/frickincheng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘What is a thrall?" said Túrin.</p><p>"A man who was a man but is treated as a beast," Sador answered. ".....I hear that they pick some of the fleet-footed and hunt them with hounds."</p><p>-The Children of Hurin</p><p>Aeler knows the truth of this in intimate detail.  Only the barest implication of underaged sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fleet of Foot

Aeler’s breath rasped in the back of his throat, frantic and raw.  The light was still dim, the fuzzy grey gloom of dawn, mists curling up from the heavy loam of the forest floor and the gentle breeze that blew through the thick tree boughs was icy-cold.  But Aeler was hot, his cheeks flushed, sweat trickling down his temple and nape, soaking into the tangled tail of dark hair that fell down his back.  His bare feet were bleeding, cut open from the branches, brambles, but he could barely even feel the pain, from cold or adrenaline he wasn’t sure which.   All he wore was a simple tunic, showing signs of recently been let out over and over again, trying to admit the growth of a boy swiftly becoming a man and leggings that rode high, pulling above his ankles.  

 

In his headlong rush, he didn’t see the log laying half buried in the deep loam, and his foot caught it, and he fell, tumbling head over heels, his fall suddenly, and brutally stopped by a thick tree.  Aeler’s jaws snapped together, and he tasted blood, and faintly heard the baying the hounds.  With a sobbing breath, he pulled himself up, and forced himself to run, even though his ribs were screaming with pain, limbs trembling with exhaustion.  He allowed himself one panicked glance backwards, as if he could somehow see the hounds.  All he could see was dark forest, and he turned his head, and forced himself on.  

 

\----

 

“Get up.”  

 

The hands were familiar, warm and rough, but it was different this time, Aeler knew this, it had been different for months now, he didn’t know what he had done wrong.  The hands gripped at him instead of petting, jerked him upright.  Aeler blinked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, scowling, and pushed at the hands.  He didn’t have much strength yet, just a boy’s confused anger and hurt, and he got a hard slap across the face for his troubles.  

 

“You’ll exercise the hounds this morning.”  

 

Aeler, who had whimpered and curled up at the pain of the blow, suddenly sat bolt upright, panic shining out from his dark eyes.  He clutched the ends of his master’s sleeves, barely able to hold back his tears.  

 

“Please, please, no-”  He nuzzled at the hands, lips softly parting so he could try and suckle at a finger, nipping gently, just as he master liked, just as he had been taught to do.  To please, to placate.  

 

Except it didn’t work anymore.  

 

He was shaken off with the same brusqueness, but there was a gleam in his master’s dark eyes, “Get ready, little wolf.”  

 

\-----

 

When they came, Aeler didn’t even see them.  Just a sudden shadow that leapt out, the long, sleek shape utterly silent, teeth clamping down over Aeler’s forearm neatly dragging him down.  The boy cried out in pain, thrashing, but the dog’s teeth ground down, head shaking.  Then the others were on him, one going for his ankle, so he was pulled tight between two points of agony, with the third baring down on him, its body wriggling with excitement.  

 

It was that point that Aeler died.  Or rather, the boy that had his name, wore his face, and lived in his skin did.  With a low, harsh, scream, he slammed his hand up, thumb pressing deep into the hound’s eye, the thick, vitreous jelly of it giving around the digit, while the rest of his hand clamped around it’s skull, throwing it back.  The hound also screamed, a high yipping wail, backing off from the boy, thrashing in pain.  The other two didn’t let go of their prize but Aeler slammed in his fist into the belly and side of the one at his arm, punching over and over again, teeth bared back, feeling bone crack under his knuckles.  The hound reared back, panting, tongue lolling out redly from between it’s slavering jaws, and was about to leap forward, when there was suddenly, a high, sharp whistle, accompanied by the thunder and crash of horses riding through the underbrush.  

 

The two injured hounds leapt away, but the last one remained at Aeler’s ankle, and finally was pulled off by a grim-faced man, the gameskeeper.  His eyes flicked over to the other two injured hounds, and his eyes widened, face darkening with rage, and he started towards Aeler, his riding crop raised to strike-

 

Only to be stopped by the master, who held up a hand, fluidly dismounting from his horse.  

 

“Didn’t think you would survive.  Would fight, so.”  His words were warm with approval, breathy with a barely suppressed excitement.  “Good wolf.”  He reached out then, to card his fingers through Aeler’s tangled hair, to stroke over his cheek.  

 

Aeler bit down at the hand, teeth grinding through flesh down to tendon and it took the gamekeeper and his riding crop to get him off.  

 

 


End file.
